


Supported

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 07:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13452975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: When Noctis is out of energy, Ignis takes care of everything.





	Supported

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Ignis helping Noctis get himself clean when he does have the energy to do so himself” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4398.html?thread=7493166#cmt7493166).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He takes his gloves off before he tests the water—when he first ran the bath, it was hot enough to cloud his glasses up with steam, but now it’s cooled down to a more manageable temperature. Ignis twists the handles to finish it. The lighting in the battered motel bathroom is poor enough that the water looks thick and near-opaque, though there aren’t any bubbles—they haven’t had one of _those_ since Noctis was young. Now he’s old enough, and they’ve done this enough, that there’s no care for embarrassment over modesty. They’ve built up _trust_ , and besides, bath additives are a luxury. They’ve been ‘slumming it’ for weeks.

And Noctis is tired for it, coated in grime and dirt, slumped over on the toilet. He doesn’t even look up when Ignis reports, “Your bath is ready.”

With a garbled sigh, Noctis pushes up to his feet. Ignis has to fight the urge to rise and help—he sees how _tired_ Noctis is, how much the day’s hunts have truly worn him down, but it’ll do more harm than good to be that overbearing. Noctis doesn’t need _all_ of his coddling. Noctis strips out of his jacket, shirt, and pants, while Ignis stares at the cracking off-white tiles. Then Noctis is stepping into the bath, slinking down.

He slumps _all the way_ down, not just sitting, but reclining back so that his head thuds against the rim. His knees peak out of the water, the rest of him submerged right up past his chest, almost to his collarbone. He stares straight up at the ceiling, though his true gaze is far away. He looks thoroughly exhausted. They all are. But Noctis’ pressure is the worst, and Ignis has his duty.

He plucks his own soap out of the container at his side—something that he’s brought with them, rather than the motel’s used bars. He gently slides the soap along Noctis’ nearest shoulder, tracing down his well-toned arm, following every graceful curve and slope with meticulous precision. Noctis’ skin is as filthy as the underside of his discarded boots, but Ignis scrubs it with tender care. By the time the morning comes, Noctis will be a handsome prince, as well-groomed as he would’ve been back at the palace. In the morning, perhaps Ignis will even trim his hair. It’s a pity there’s no way to iron out his clothes. It’s a pity he no longer commands the full staff that he once had, but Ignis is devoted enough for an entire team, and he does what he may.

He cleans all of Noctis’ heavy form, quietly coaxing him here and there to turn or lift as Ignis needs. Noctis complies with everything, though a little slow, at first out of obvious fatigue, then just languid and relaxed. His tense muscles gradually unwind beneath Ignis’ expert touch, until his face is almost _peaceful_. That’s enough reward in and of itself.

He bends forward when it’s time to clean his back. He spreads his legs when Ignis washes his thighs. He lets Ignis pluck his feet out of the water and trace along his calves. Ignis’ shirt, sleeves rolled up his arms, isn’t splashed at all. Their routine is calm and comfortable. When Ignis is sure that Noctis is good as new, he retires the soap back into its confines, and he reaches for Noctis’ hair. 

Before he can connect, Noctis turns his head away, murmuring quietly, “Not now. I’ll fall asleep if we go on much longer.” 

He often has. Ignis has always tried to make the experience as pleasant as possible for his prince, but the resulting massages too frequently have Noctis melting in his arms. Noctis’ messy strands still call to him, but Ignis acquiesces, “Very well.” 

Most of the soap has already drizzled down into the now-murky water, but Ignis still does a quick check—rinsing Noctis off once more, until everything is perfect. Then he rises up to fetch a towel, which he holds over the tub, face respectfully turned aside.

When Noctis gets up, he’s unsteady on his feet, but after a deep breath, he manages. Ignis wraps it thickly around him and gently pats him down. As Noctis steps out of the tub, soaking into the bathmat Ignis had just knelt on, he mumbles, “Hey, Iggy...” Ignis looks up, but Noctis has his eyes elsewhere again. He tells Ignis quietly, “Thanks.”

Ignis’ chest constricts, as it always does at Noctis’ intermittent gratitude. He promises, “It’s no trouble.” It really isn’t. In a way, he cherishes these moments, lazy and safe, relaxing in their own way. Noctis gives a silent nod, though he doesn’t look like he fully believes that it’s no trouble at all. Ignis thinks of repeating the sentiment, of taking Noctis’ chins and turning him, connecting their eyes and insisting that Noctis know Ignis would never give his duties up, not for all the world. But now isn’t the time for that heart to heart. Noctis needs his bed, and they have two companions that likely want their turns inside the bathroom.

When Noctis is dry, Ignis turns away, and Noctis slips back into his clothes, because they have nothing else to change into now. Ignis stands by, _just in case_ a headache should strike and Noctis stumbles. He doesn’t. He finishes up and leaves, back out into their bitter world, Ignis right behind him.


End file.
